The Dragoon and the Dwarves
by ImJustSomeRandomWriter
Summary: Daedric, one of the last Dragoons, lost his father to the pugnacious Smaug. Now an orphan, Daedric finds himself unprepared and unskilled to defeat the dragon that claimed Erebor. Daedric soon finds himself in the Line of Durin. Years later, a teenaged Daedric and a dwarven company will reclaim Erebor with the help of a burglar. (Contains some parental Thorin; no SLASH!)
1. Prologue

Inside the diverse world of Middle-Earth, there are dragons; drakes-they are creatures that breath fire and fly throughout the skies, seeking treasures and many different things for many different reasons. These dragons, however, are belligerent, pugnacious creatures that bring death and tragedy with them, like a sudden storm. They only know destruction.

These creatures must be controlled, too. Only a few dragons have ever existed, but, when they do exist, many lives and land are lost to the inferno that is released by the flying creatures of death.

There is a certain clan of special warriors called the Dragoons. They are dragon-slayers. They learn the language of the reptilians; they also learn of the beasts, themselves, too. The Dragoons learn how to harbor the pyro inside the dragons once they are slain with the special weapons forged from dragon fire. The Dragoons know of an ancient spell to absorb the souls of the dragons, and gain their abilities of pyro.

The Dragoons are isolated people. They do not like to coincide with other species and races, even though they are of the Man race in Middle-Earth. The Dragoons are quite friendly to anyone who trespassed onto their territory, which is located outside of Gondor. Dragoons are quite peaceful and robust people, with ecstatic moods and stupendous personalities.

Dragoons, however, only have one purpose in life: kill any dragons that endanger the people and creatures of Middle-Earth.

Each Dragoon is usually destined with one dragon they have to kill. They will envision many horrific nightmares and suffer many pains, which are caused by the dragon; the stronger the pain, the stronger the dragon. If a Dragoon fails to kill, another Dragoon, usually an adolescent, will inherit the pains and visions, and seek out the dragon.

Dragoons will stop at nothing until their kill is finished; they are determined folk. They teach themselves how to defend their bodies against the flames of the dragon; they created armor against the inferno.

Lastly, Dragoons love each other, and are relatively low in numbers, too. There never has been over fifty Dragoons living at once. They are sometimes defined as lunatics, and insane. The people of Middle-Earth fear the dragons, however, they don't usually live long enough to see any dragons in their lifetimes. Dragoons, however, only live ten years after their kill.

If they cannot kill another dragon and renew those ten years, then they combust into fiery embers and ash, and simply float onto the ground, and get mixed with the soil and the rivers.

* * *

It was a peaceful day for the kingdom of Erebor. The bright blue skies radiated a positive, ecstatic mood, lightening the souls of the dwarves that reside in Dale, the city that encircled the mountain kingdom of Erebor. The dwarves inside the city usually busied themselves with shopping, socialization, and many other entertaining activities. The dwarves lived very serene lives.

The sun emitted a stupendous feel and sensation. Dwarves ran around the city, enjoying the wonderful nice weather. The men were either mining, on sentry duty, or were working the vendors. The females and children were shopping and socializing.

Inside the mountainous kingdom of Erebor, sat a Dwarven king. The king apathetically eyed a gem while he sat on his throne. He was wearing his kingly robes and attire, dressed in fine furs. The king was an old Dwarf; his beard and hair were silver. He wore a golden crown upon his lordly head.

Beside him, stood his grandson, Thorin Oakenshield. Thorin was a buff and muscular dwarf. His black hair touched his shoulders, while his shorter beard was glistening from the torchlight. He was dressed in simple cloths-a tunic and trousers. He was the next heir of the throne. He was the son of Thrain, who was the son of Thror. Thorin was royalty, and he enjoyed every moment of it.

He couldn't wait to be king.

Thorin glanced away while his grandfather, Thror, King Under the Mountain, released a languid sigh. Thorin looked below him, staring at the bright ocean of gold, jewels, and gems. He longed to own every pound, every gem, that resided in the monolith ocean of gold.

Many of these days were boring for him. Thorin usually accompanied his grandfather during his meetings and appointments. Besides that, Thorin was a respected warrior, too. He was one of the best inside Erebor. His friend, Dwalin, also held an esteemed title of an ardent warrior.

Thorin glanced apathetically towards his grandfather, who was still transfixed upon the random gem. Thorin looked above the King, looking at the exquisite jewel that was added to the royal throne.

The Arkenstone-the most beautiful object in the world.

Thorin had learned to love that shiny jewel. It was the treasure of the kingdom, and the most valuable object. Thorin sometimes became transfixed upon the beauty, the exuberant gem sending him into a stupor. Thorin couldn't comprehend the beauty of the light, the colors, and the glimmer of the gem.

To him, the Arkenstone was his life, just like his dream to become king.

Thorin was in his normal, routine stupor when he was disrupted by an enigmatic dwarf. Thror glanced apathetically at the dwarf, who was gasping for air. The dwarf leaned over, panting. Thorin furrowed his brow as the dwarf stood erect, fixing his composure and posture in front of the king. "Your Majesty, there is a visitor requesting your council."

"I didn't request any visitors today, you idiot!" growled Thror. "I distinctly recall ordering that I be left alone today-I don't want any visitors!'

"But, Your Majesty, it's imperative that you see this man! He claims he knows you personally," said the dwarf sheepishly. The dwarf was young and his beard wasn't long, Thorin noticed; he must've been hired recently as a servant.

Thror rose from his throne. He stood erect. "Who is this man you speak of? Unless they have any rare gems-none can best the Arkenstone, though-then they can shove off! I don't wish to be bothered!"

Thorin flinched slightly at his grandfather's words. He didn't know that Thror could be so belligerent. Thror was quite friendly and socialistic, and seeing him deny visitors was quite rare. Thorin, too, had always welcomed visitors, even though he wasn't the most ecstatic dwarf. Thorin kept his thoughts equivocal, though.

"He claims to be one of 'de Dragoons!" cried the dwarf. Thorin raised an eyebrow, the dwarf piquing his interests. He recalled the fabled stories of the Dragoons, the slayers of dragons. Dragons were rare and mythical, but, the Dragoons had proved that dragons do exist. Thorin had to see one to believe their existence, though-that was his philosophy.

Thror chuckled warmly and grinned. "I know of the Dragoon you speak of; I will see him immediately!" Thorin was surprised at his grandfather's sudden change of composure and emotion.

Thror approached Thorin and quickly began to fix Thorin's cloths. "Thorin, my dear grandson, you're about to see a legend! This man had slayed several dragons in his lifetime-the Men claim that he's the best Dragoon in Middle-Earth, and possibly, the best to exist. I expect your best attitude, and be professional."

"Yes, grandfather," Thorin grunted. He swatted away Thror's hands and fixed his cloths. Thror shook his head, chuckling, and turned towards the entrance of the throne room. Thorin saw two figures moving into the throne room, walking slowly to absorb the scenery. Thorin studied the approaching figures; one figure was tall, and the other was quite short-possibly a child.

Thorin sighed. He was royalty. He was apart of the linage of Durin, yet, he could never be professional. He was different from his grandfather. Thorin had a taste for adventure and action, and wasn't the regal king that his grandfather wanted him to aspire to become. He wanted to be different-he liked different; it was him. His father, Thrain, was different, too. Thrain wasn't the regal prince that many dwarrows imagined him to be.

The figures approached, and Thorin tensed his shoulders. The taller figure was quite muscular. He was holding the hand of the smaller figure, who was a child. The Man child looked to be six or seven in Man years. His nephews, Kili and Fili, were somewhat close to the lad's age. The boy looked apprehensive about the new environment; it was clear that he was uncomfortable.

"Hello, my dear friend!" exclaimed Thror as he sauntered towards the Man and embraced him warmly. The Man dropped the child's hand and embraced the king warmly. Thorin kept his eyes on the child, who was staring at Thorin. They exchanged a silent conversation. Thorin was tempted to acknowledge the child verbally, but he kept his words equivocal.

"Hello, Your Majesty," replied the Man as they pulled away. The Man held Thror's shoulders. "My, you've grown! I haven't seen you since the downfall of Azagalla, and, you were more uglier then!"

They exchanged a quick laughter. Thror shifted his attention to the child. "Murrow, is this your son?"

"Yes," laughed the Man named Murrow. He picked up his son, and held him. "His name is Daedric. Say hello, Daedric."

"Hello," said the young boy. He looked at the king, and sheepishly waved at him. The boy had dark blue eyes and black hair. The hair was swiped to the side. Murrow was almost identical to his son: blue eyes and black hair. His hair was spiked upwards at the front, though. Murrow's clean face was fatherly and quite handsome. Murrow was quite tall-he was nearly three heads taller than Thror.

Thror bowed to the boy. "Hello, Daedric-I'm the King Under the Mountain, Thror. I'm humbled to be in the presence of an adolescent Dragoon!" Thror turned to Thorin. "Adolescent Dragoons are quite rare, Throin, because Dragoons have a low fertility rate."

Thorin noticed that Murrow looked away as Daedric buried his face on the crook of his father's neck. Murrow rubbed his son's back as Thorin watched them.

Thror cleared his throat. "I apologize; this is my grandson, and next heir, Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain."

Murrow looked at Thorin and quickly studied him. "Well, hello, future king. My name is Murrow, a Dragoon."

"Nice to meet your acquaintance, Dragoon," Thorin said deadpan.

"Why did you travel this way, Murrow?" asked Thror kindly. "I believe your talents should be closer to Gondor or somewhere...not as populated."

"Actually, I'm here because there is a dragon closing in," said Murrow.

"He's nasty," said Daedric, his face pulled away from his father's neck.

"He's is nasty, but your father can beat him," laughed Murrow as he looked at his son. He kissed his son on the forehead, and chuckled as they touched foreheads. Thorin noticed that was a Dwarrow's sign of affection.

Thror frowned. "It's close, isn't it?"

Murrow looked at Thror, his head resting against Daedric's head. "Yes, but our battle will occur in an unpopulated area nearby. I will keep Smaug, the dragon, away from Erebor." Murrow set down Daedric. He sauntered towards Thorin and Thror and pulled them aside. Daedric looked at the ocean of gold.

"What's wrong?" asked Thror. They were standing near the throne as Daedric was distracted by the bright yellow sea.

Murrow rubbed his face and looked at the two dwarves. He rubbed his eyes and sniffed. "You must take care of Daedric."

"That's not a problem," smiled Thror. "He will be safe while you defeat Smaug and-"

"I can't defeat Smaug!" hissed Murrow. There was a tear rolling down his cheek. "One Dragoon can kill ten dragons until they lose their powers and the new generation takes over. I had already slain my ten dragons, my friend."

Thorin looked at Murrow. "You intend to sacrifice yourself, don't you?"

Murrow nodded despondently. "You can't let Daedric learn of my reasons; he doesn't fully understand the Dragoonian ways. He already lost his mother at birth, and I hate to see him in anymore pain. I ask that you two raise him. I have to sacrifice myself and transfer my powers onto Daedric. He won't receive his powers until his sixteenth birthday, which is in nearly eighty years. You cannot let his discover my demise, too."

"Murrow," said Thror sheepishly. "You...came here to say goodbye."

"Yes, my friend, I did. You're my dearest friend, and I cannot leave without saying goodbye. I have to defend my kin and yours. I need you to evacuate your people immediately. I cannot determine how quickly I can keep Smaug distracted, but, I need you to take Daedric with you. I need him to survive. The number of Dragoons is at a nadir, and he's one of the only adolescent Dragoons left. Our seed is becoming unfertile, apparently. Daedric will learn in time, and his powers will be inherited when he's sixteen."

"Murrow, what do you want us to do?" Thorin asked, since Thror was looking away, tears flowing into his beard.

"Teach him to become a warrior, Oakenshield. I want him to learn how to fight! He is the next Dragoon, and he will defend this realm. I need you to be his teacher and his father. You don't have to show him affection, but he will need love. You could give him a rough, stoic love, but he needs it. I'm his only family left, but I need you to be his new family. Accept him as your surrogate son, please. I don't need him heartbroken and depressed; he is going to reclaim Middle-Earth from the dragons."

Thorin gave Murrow a perplexed look. "I will try my best, Dragoon, but I will not promise the love. I don't have any immediate children, so my, well, parental skills might not be sufficient. Thror and Thrain, my father, are more experienced with parental advice and fatherly love. I am a warrior, not a caregiver."

Murrow sighed despondently. "Thorin, just take him. Train him to beome an adequate warrior, and then, you can abandon my child. Daedric needs some skill with swordsmanship, then, you can leave."

Thorin looked into Murrow's eyes, examining him. Thorin never particularly liked Men, but, something inside Murrow swayed his opinion. Murrow seemed nice enough, and trust-worthy, too. Thorin sighed. "Alright, I will take your son. I cannot promise much, but he will become an adequate warrior, I ensure you."

Murrow quickly embraced the stout dwarf. "Thank you."

Thorin pulled away, uncomfortable with the sudden affection of the Dragoon. "You're welcome. I will evacuate my kin while you defend our kingdom."

Murrow nodded and sauntered towards his son. Thror wiped the tears from his face as he took side by his grandson. Thorin looked at Thror, and then, back to the Dragoon. His father, Thrain, was in Dale. Thorin would rush into town once the alarm had been set. He needed to defend his grandfather, even if it meant losing his life.

Murrow crouched, reaching his son's level. Daedric looked at his father. "Da', how much gold down 'der?"

"I don't know, son," Murrow chuckled. "I never took the opportunity to count every piece. Hopefully, one day, you can have the esteemed privilege to count every piece, and you can determine the number."

Daedric laughed and leapt towards his father, who caught him. "I love you, Da'"

"I love you, too, Daedric," said Murrow as he kissed his son's forehead. He held his son tightly, not wanting to lose him. Thorin watched the heartwarming scene. His father and him never shared much affection, but, Thorin could relate to the father. He cared for his younger brother and many other dwarrows. He could feel the pain of the father.

Murrow stood erect, holding his son. He sauntered towards the King and his heir. He set down Daedric. He knelt down and hugged him for the last time. "Daedric, I love you so much. These two wonderful dwarves will watch you while Da' fights the dragon. I will be back, I promise."

"Okay, Da'!" laughed Daedric as he squirmed in his father's arms. "Go kill dragon!"

Murrow pulled away and stood erect. "I will." He spun on his heel and sauntered down the throne room, weeping silently. His back was to his son, so Daedric couldn't see the pain and anguish on his father's face.

Daedric looked to the two dwarves. He smiled. "Hello."

Thror smiled despondently. "Hello, little child. Would you like to come with us? We have to leave while your father defeats the evil dragon."

"Where are we going to go?"

"Away," said Thorin as he sauntered past the Man child. "We're going away."

* * *

Thorin watched from a safe distance. He stood on a hill, distantly watching the inferno that engulfed Dale. The embers floated into the air as Thorin concentrated his transfixed eyes upon Erebor. That damned dragon was sitting inside his kingdom, laying and smothering his gold and his gems-that dragon stole _his_ kingdom. Thorin rubbed his bearded face as he stared at the entrance of Erebor. The fire drake was sitting inside his home. It was sitting with his precious treasures.

That damned lizard was inhabiting the home of the Arkenstone.

Thorin looked away, seeing Thror and Thrain distantly, talking inaudibly. Thorin huffed quietly and fell back into his stupor. He was racking his brain for solutions, however, he knew that Dragoons can only break the hide of the dragon. Unfortunately, the only nearby Dragoon was dead, half of his body resting inside of the dragon.

Thorin saw the grizzly scene. He was rushing towards the entrance of Erebor when he saw half of Murrow being devoured by the dragon, Smaug. Thorin saw the Dragoon patiently wait while the dragon bit the Man in half. Thorin felt bile rise into his throat; he could still recall the sound of tearing flesh and cracking armor. The tough teeth of the dragon could pierce the armor of the poor Dragoon.

Thorin shook his head, dispersing the horrid memories away. Thorin looked to his far right, and saw the young child of Murrow standing on a rock, watching Dale. Dusk was slowly engulfing the hills around Erebor. The boy watched the kingdom of dwarves, silently waiting for something to happen. Thorin knew the child was waiting for his father to return.

The dwarf slowly sauntered towards the child, taking careful and quiet steps. Behind him, hundreds—or thousands—of dwarves were waiting patiently, hoping for a quick solution to be offered. Many other dwarves had left, too scared to remain around the lands that were covered in death. Many other dwarves were agitated by the neglect given from the Elves, too.

Thorin crept towards the child, who was ominously watching the inferno intently. Thorin approached the child, who didn't acknowledge him. Thorin crouched slightly and hunched beside the young child. The boy, Daedric, gave him an apathetic glance, and turned his attention back towards Dale and Erebor.

"Daedric," Thorin muttered. "He's not coming back. Smaug has taken shelter inside Erebor. I'm sorry, but your father didn't survive."

"Impossible," Daedric quickly replied. "Da' is too strong to die."

"Daedric-"

"No, mister dwarf," snapped the young child. "Da' is alive."

Thorin sighed and stood erect. "He's dead, and you should accept that. Don't live your life in denial, Man child. If you live your life in denial, you'll be consumed in darkness. Your father needs you to prepare for when you mature and gain the ability to defeat dragons. Your father needs you to be strong."

"My father can teach me," said Daedric determinedly. "He will come."

"No, he won't," growled Thorin. "Your father is dead! I saw him get devoured by Smaug!" He didn't realize his voice was rising. "Murrow is gone! He will not emerge through those flames and saunter towards you like a champion! Your father is dead, Daedric!"

Daedric shook his head as he began to sob. Daedric dropped to his knees. "Dad! No..."

Thorin sighed and looked away, seeing some dwarves watching him suspiciously. Thorin cursed under his breath. "Aye, Daedric, I understand your pain. Don't stay here and cry; you need to come with me."

Daedric stood tall, still crying, and nodded several times. "'K."

Thorin smirked and put a hand on the child's shoulder. "I'm not too bad, you know."

Daedric looked away as the darkness began to thicken. Daedric shrugged off the dwarf's grip and sauntered past him, brushing arms with the heir. Thorin watched the boy walk past, and he sighed. This would be a difficult task to complete.

Thorin had his work cut out for him.


	2. Chapter 1: The Beginning of the Journey

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of our fantastic dwarven companions, but I do own the Dragoons-they are my own characters. I don't own any part of Middle-Earth except for the Dragoonian villages! Everything else is own by a brilliant man.**

 **Other News: Updates for this story will be sporadic and slow-I'm an obligated person. I will attempt to write them often, but I cannot promise weekly updates!**

 **Please Review! I will appreciate any criticism! I don't know much Khuzdul, so any fan of that language, prepare to be disappointed, haha.**

 **Thanks for reading, and please review!**

 **P.S.: This story was inspired from the movie, The Hobbit. The events that occur in this story will mirror the movie more than the book; if I miss anything major from the novel, The Hobbit, please inform me immediately!**

 **Thanks, again!**

 **\- IJSRW**

* * *

The sun was silhouetted on the Shire. Dusk was quickly approaching the two weary travelers, and darkness will consume the dim land. The clouds were golden yellow, while the sky was painted with colorful hues of orange, yellow, and the purple of the night. The grasses looked darker from the setting sun, and looked more enticing for a nap.

The two travelers sat upon their ponies, enjoying the presence of each other. The travelers were good friends, and thought of each other was family. They held an amazing relationship.

One of the ponies shook its head wildly, apparently demanding a break for water. One of the travelers groaned with annoyance and swung off their pony, grabbing a canteen from the saddlebag on the pony. The cloaked traveler grumbled with annoyance and exasperation as the other traveler grinned with amusement.

"You shouldn't get so exasperated," chimed the first traveler, his grin concealed by the shadow of his cowl. "You're getting old-anger isn't beneficial for your health."

"Call me old again, and you'll be concerned for your own health," chuckled the second traveler. The traveler accepted his friend's words; he _was_ older than when they first met, but he was still quite lithe. He grinned to himself, and he knew his friend was concerned about his health, and was using senile insults and teases to mask his concern.

"However, I shouldn't mention a dwarrow's anger-they're too hotheaded to control it," laughed the younger traveler.

"I can't wait till you have children," said the older traveler as he removed his cowl. He quickly quenched the thirst of his pony. "I'm going to fill their impressionable minds with anger!"

The younger traveler scoffed. "My children will be too amazing to be hotheaded. Your impressionable nephews are the perfect test subjects, though."

The older traveler chuckled as he mounted his pony. The younger traveler removed his cowl, revealing a young face of a Man. His dark blue eyes were always observing and watching. His roughly handsome features earned them drinks at the pubs they came across, and his short hair was unique. His black hair was swiped to the side. The younger traveler smiled warmly at the older traveler.

The older traveler smiled back as the ponies continued their walk through the Shire. "You know, I haven't gotten the chance to thank you."

The younger traveler cocked his head slightly. "What are you talking about, Thorin?"

The older traveler smiled. "You're going to help me reclaim my home, and I cannot thank you enough. We've been through hell together, lad, and I haven't gotten the chance to commend you for being strong with me. Thank you, Daedric."

Daedric's smile faded away. He looked forward, looking down the dirt road. "Thorin, I want you to thank me when I reclaim your home. I don't need your thanks; I will not feel any gratitude until I defeat Smaug for killing my father and taking your home."

Thorin's smile faded, too. He knew the lad held a fiery hatred for the dragon that slayed his father. Daedric was totally oblivious to the true intentions of his father, Murrow, and his sacrifice for Erebor. Thorin looked away, hating himself for keeping the secret equivocal from Daedric.

He loved Daedric like a son, and he hated to see Daedric in pain.

"But," said Daedric with an exuberant tone. "You're welcome, Thorin Oakenshield. I will always stay by your side. I'm indebted to you and your kin for raising me."

Thorin smiled. He was glad that he accepted Murrow's request. Thorin was anxious to reach the destination of their newest companion. Thorin knew nothing of their new companion, but he imagined that Gandalf, the Gray Wizard, has chosen an excellent warrior or archer to join their company. Thorin knew that the Shire was an odd place for a fighter, but he never questioned Gandalf.

"Come, Daedric," said Thorin Oakenshield as he grabbed the reins of his pony. "Let's make haste to our newest companion! We have family waiting for us, too!"

* * *

Daedric blinked. Thorin stood beside him, probably holding the same expression. They stood before a gigantic green door, which lead into a hillside. Daedric couldn't believe that their newest companion, an enigma to the company, lived inside a hole in a hill. The hole looked spacious and luxurious, though. Daedric attempted to peer through a nearby window, but he didn't want to peer upon their companion. Daedric could hear the deep voices of dwarves inside the hole, too.

Thorin took one step forward and knocked on the door. Daedric glanced over Thorin's shoulder, seeing an illuminated symbol on the green door. Daedric raised an inquisitive eyebrow; who did Gandalf choose as the fifteenth companion?!

The door swung open, and Daedric's answer was possibly answered.

Before the Dragoon, stood a short person with curly brown hair. The short man was wearing fine cloths. He was barefooted, and his fairy feet were quite large. Daedric focused his attention away from the man's enormous feet. The short man looked annoyed and flushed, but, Daedric couldn't blame him.

"Great, even more dwarves, and a Man! Why does everything have to happen to me?" groaned the short man as he sauntered away from the door. Thorin huffed and stepped into the door. Daedric followed him, barely fitting through the doorway. Daedric could hear the banter between the other dwarves. Daedric grinned as the two travelers entered a cramped room filled with familiar faces.

Daedric grinned ecstatically as he saw the familiar faces of the company. There was food stacked upon the table. The dwarves cheered loudly as Thorin and Daedric entered the dining room. The twins, Fili and Kili, sauntered across the room. "Uncle Thorin!" they exclaimed as they embraced their uncle. Daedric stood aside, watching the bright reunion. Fili and Kili were raised by Thorin, and stood alongside him else the fall of Erebor.

Thorin loves them deeply.

Fili pulled away from his uncle, and saw Daedric. Fili gave the Dragoon a warm bearded smile. He sauntered towards the Man and tightly embraced him. "Daedric!"

Daedric laughed as they embraced. "Hey, blondie!" Daedric was delighted to see him; Fili and Kili were his best friends. Daedric was two or three inches taller than Fili.

Kili grabbed his brother and pulled him off Daedric. Daedric laughed as the brother exchanged an angry glare. Kili shrugged and embraced Daedric. Daedric embraced him, too, enjoying seeing his best friends again.

Kili pulled away. "Daedric, you look great! I hope Thorin isn't training you too hard."

Daedric gave him a senile smile. "He can barely keep up with me-I think I'm training him harder than he's training me!"

Throin, who was chatting with Dwalin and Balin, rolled his eyes and shook his head. Daedric snickered as he looked at the brothers. "Why are we inside someone's home? That tiny person cannot be our newest companion?" His words were hushed and quieted.

"Yes," muttered Fili. "Our fabulous host, Bilbo Baggins, is our newest companion."

"He's a hobbit," said Kili. "He's also a burglar!"

Fili rolled his eyes. "Don't be so dramatic, brother. Bilbo, through his irritation, is quite a nice hobbit. He definitely understands how to host rambunctious guests."

Daedric smiled. "That's an understatement, Fili."

Fili grinned. "You're not easy to handle, either-I distinctly remember you eating all the food in that pub several seasons ago!"

Daedric chuckled as Kili threw an arm around his shoulders. "Ah, Fili, he's a growing dragon slayer! Our little Daedric simply needs his food!"

"I'm not little! I'm taller than you, Kili! Get a step stool, and say that again!" laughed Daedric. He looked over to his left, seeing Thorin seated at the large dinner table. Daedric grinned at the brothers, and then, quickly found an empty seat beside Fili and Dwalin. Dwalin, the burly, gigantic warrior, laughed merrily as Daedric took his seat.

"Well, laddie, you've grown since we last meet!" exclaimed the massive dwarf. Daedric greeted Dwalin as they quickly touched foreheads. Daedric vaguely remembered all the tiring training sessions with the ardent fighter, the exhaustion, the sound of steel against steel, and the sweat rolling down his face.

"Thank you!" said Daedric happily. "I can't tell any difference from you, except for that growing belly! You've put on a few pounds, Dwalin."

"Don't make me kick yer' ass, lad," said Dwalin with a sarcastic growl. "If I wasn't told to act appropriately, I would slam your pretty face through this table!"

"You better hold that," said Daedric. "You'll be quite angry when I defeat you in a sparring session!"

"I'll be waiting."

Daedric turned and looked around the table. Besides the brothers and Dwalin, many of the dwarves were new to him; he knew Balin, too, and Bofur and his brother, Bifur. Everyone else, though, seemed to be enigmatic to the Man. Daedric couldn't place names to faces.

Bilbo, the exasperated hobbit, continuously brought out plates of food. He grumbled to himself as he placed plate after plate of food onto the table. One particular dwarf named Bombur was demolishing the food, and the other dwarves had to struggle and compete to eat. Daedric quickly grabbed any enticing food around him, and hoped to stuff himself before Bombur ate the food from his hands.

* * *

Daedric, his cloths and gear setting on his pony outside, sat near the hearth, listening to the dwarves converse. They were reminiscing, talking about past memories of Erebor and their hardships since the invasion of Smaug. Thorin was speaking to the senior members of the company, and that left Daedric, the brothers, and another dwarf named Ori, behind near the hearth. Ori was a scribe, and was transfixed in his book. Daedric watched him apathetically; he was never educated like the scribe.

Daedric clenched his hand. He could read and write, and that has his education. His entire life was spent learning how to parry and strike, or how to defeat an enemy. Daedric wasn't even educated when he was with his biological father.

Daedric was looking through an old box of decorations that the hobbit kept near the hearth. Daedric shifted through the box carefully, trying not to damage any item that resided inside the box.

Fili and Kili muttered nearby. Daedric was apathetic towards them, too.

Something tapped his shoulder, taking him from his stupor. Daedric shook his head, and looked over his shoulder. Bilbo Baggins was standing over him, staring at the box of decorations. "What are you doing?"

"I'm looking," said Daedric as he held the box out to Bilbo. "I apologize-that was somewhat rude of me. I should've asked for permission."

Bilbo nodded and took the box. He set the box on the mantle of the hearth. He glanced back at Daedric. "What are you doing here? I know my races, and you're not a dwarf. What are you doing on this journey?"

Daedric looked into the fire. "I'm indebted, Master Baggins. I stand in an awkward position inside the company; I matter more than others. I'm a Dragoon."

Bilbo chuckled as he narrowed his eyes. "That's a joke-they don't exist. My father, Bunga, always said that Dragoons were mythical."

"Well, I'm proving your father wrong, then," said Daedric with a meek smile.

"Why aren't you with the other Dragoons? Why are you with these dwarves?" asked the inquisitive hobbit.

"My parents are dead, Master Baggins, and Thorin Oakenshield accepted me into his family and company. These dwarves are the only family I have," said Daedric. "They are completely dysfunctional, but I couldn't have asked more better friends and family, Master Baggins. I hope to add you to that list, too."

Daedric saw the hobbit crack a smile. "I'm an orphan, too, Dragoon. I understand your loneness, and I believe it's wonderful, but maybe not entirely healthy, that you lived with dwarves during your adolescence."

Daedric frowned. "What is unhealthy about them?"

"You're not an adult," said Bilbo with a tight smile. "Those belligerent dwarves could be unhealthy for your maturity, Dragoon."

"My name is Daedric," replied the Dragoon. "I'm not a true Dragoon, either. I just turned sixteen, which is the development age for Dragoons. I age and live longer than most Men, too. By now, I have outlived three generations of Men."

Bilbo nodded, mentally noting that. "You're an interesting race, Daedric. During these travels, I may ask questions; would you care if I asked questions?"

"I would be delighted to provide a sufficient answer," said Daedric with a smile.

Bilbo nodded and looked back at the box of decorations on the mantel. "To be honest, I'm no burglar. I haven't stolen anything in my life!"

"I can tell," Daedric replied, adding a chuckle after his words. "You're not the thieving type, Master Baggins. You're plump and unmuscular, which is deadly for thieves. They endure strong hardships, and you certainly haven't endured them, yourself."

Bilbo wagged his finger. "Looks can be deceiving, though."

Daedric chuckled. "That is true, Master Baggins."

* * *

Thorin looked around his company of dwarves. They sat in an opposite room, listening to the conversation between Bilbo and Daedric. Personally, Thorin didn't like the hobbit; he was unfit, unskilled, and unworthy of traveling with the dwarrows. Thorin would rather throw the hobbit off the Lonely Mountains. He had enough dwarrows to worry about, and this hobbit would only cause more discrepancies. Also, Daedric and his new conditions will provide enough stress.

Dawlin choltered. "Unhealthy? Damn that hobbit! I believe we're perfect for Daedric!"

"The lad deserves to be with his kin, brother," replied Balin, the white-haired dwarf. He sat on a stool beside Thorin. They had a friendly relationship. "He cannot receive the proper training by residing with us."

"That's rude!" sneered Nori, the thief amongst the company. While his trademark was stealing - much like Bilbo will be doing - Bilbo had the stealth factor. Nori was quite proficient at stealing, but his stealth was another complication that Thorin couldn't fix.

"Balin has a point," muttered Kili. "I love Daedric like my own brother, but he cannot train himself properly with us being around."

Thorin sighed heavily. "He wouldn't understand. Daedric is one of us, and he regards us as his family. I cannot send him away."

Balin smirked. _The King has finally found someone to love, even if it wasn't a lass. Daedric is his surrogate son. Thorin would rather die and throw the Arkenstone into a lake than send Daedric away. No father could do that to their son._

"I agree with my brother," said Fili, "but he has to stay!"

"He's our only way to defeat Smaug!" exclaimed Dori, the brother of Nori. "O' course he's stayin'!"

"No," said Thorin. "Daedric is more than a weapon. He is one of _us_ \- and nothing will change that. I cannot rely on this hobbit, but I trust Daedric with _our_ lives. This lad has shed blood for me, and I know he can defeat any hardship that falls upon him."

"What do you mean?" asked Gloin, another dwarf that is oblivious to Daedric and his nature.

Thorin sighed, reminiscing over the tragic event. "Daedric and I were traveling outside of Mordor. I was quite apathetic as I was searching for more training locations on a map I purchased. Daedric, who was twelve, according to Man years, was scanning the horizon. Behind us, two orcs had snuck under our noses. They attacked, and Daedric quickly apprehended the first. The second orc was creeping behind me, and I was focused on Daedric.

"The orc attacked me from behind, slamming his hilt into my skull. Dazed, I stumbled away, catching myself on a log. Daedric engaged the orc, but his weapon was damaged during the fight of the first orc. His sword broke, and the orc immobilized Daedric temporarily. I was still dazed, and the orc was preparing to kill me. The orc swung his twisted blade, but Daedric leapt into the sword, and took the blow for me. He nearly died for me that day, and I'm still grateful."

"Don't forget the part where you comforted and mother-henned me for the next four weeks," laughed Daedric as he entered the room. "You smothered me, practically."

Thorin furrowed his brow. "I apologize for my concern, then - I didn't want to lose you to an orc."

Daedric smiled. "I know, I was teasing. I'm grateful for your concern and smothering, Thorin Oakenshield." His words were warm and filled with merit.

"Thorin is an _adad!"_ exclaimed Ori, the youngest of the dwarrows.

Thorin sent daggers towards Ori. "He's not my biological son, but-" he apprehensively paused. "-if you wish to use _adad_ as the term, I guess I'm Daedric's _adad."_

The dwarves laughed amongst themselves, imagining their king as a father. Daedric, who's face was turning pink, turned his face away, remembering his actual father. Thorin noticed this, and threw himself off his seat and moved towards the Man. Daedric was surprisingly short compared to other Men, and stood the exact height as the dwarves - mainly because he wasn't done growing.

Thorin gripped Daedric's shoulder, who was facing away from him. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Daedric said sheepishly. "I'm tired, though."

Thorin nodded understandingly. Last week, Daedric turned the ripe age of sixteen, and his powers would begin to mature. Daedric has succumbed to lassitude quite easily, now, and got tired and exhausted in the nights. Daedric often muttered about feeling sick, too. Thorin was somewhat concerned for his health and the toll of these powers.

"Aye," said Thorin. "We're all exhausted." He turned towards his company, his kin. Thorin took a deep breath, and looked amogst the company; every pair of eyes were gazing upon him.

"We should all retire for the night," said Thorin aloud, his voice stoic and hard. Daedric simply turned and sauntered towards the hearth in the adjacent room. The Dragoon took his seat near the hearth, and laid down. He was using his travel bag as a pillow, and using his large cloak as his blanket.

Almost every night was like this.

Daedric was staring into the flames when he heard footsteps behind him. He rolled over and saw the youngest set of brothers staring at him. Daedric smiled tiredly. "Hello."

"Are you feeling well?" asked Fili.

"I'm tired," Daedric said quickly. "I haven't gotten much sleep lately - I've been too excited, I guess."

Kili, the younger brother, chuckled. "You're lying, Daedric."

"What do you mean?"

"You talk very quickly and rushed when you're lying," laughed the younger brother. The archer sat next to Daedric. "We grew up together; we know all your little signs."

Daedric smiled warmly. "You two know me too well, I guess."

Fili took his seat next to Daedric. "You're our other brother - the littlest!"

Daedric sat tall and frowned. "I don't want to be the youngest, you blonde dork."

Fili threw an arm around his friend and pulled his close. He suddenly turned his arm inwards, and moved his shoulder, putting Daedric in a headlock. He began to ruffle his hair fiercely. "You're the youngest, you silly orc!" Fili laughed as Daedric shoved his shoulder into Fili's chest, knocking him over. Kili, who was missing the fun, dove onto the small pile of Man and dwarf.

The three laughed as they wrestled each other in the spacious room of the hobbit, who was watching them intently from another room. Bilbo shook his head. _These people will be the death of me, I swear it!_


End file.
